


First Contact

by Aliit_Netra



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Green Jedi, Masters vs Padawans, Sparring, Start of Relationship, creating a force bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliit_Netra/pseuds/Aliit_Netra
Summary: Green Jedi Padawans Jenisa Tyralla and Tiran Wessiri find a bond which transcends combat, a bond which will develop into something profound for both young Jedi.





	First Contact

Tiran was tired. The Padawan was near the end of his apprenticeship, but still, his master pushed him beyond the bounds of the other students he saw in the Enclave. Few could outlast him in a lightsaber duel - the vast majority of them lasted no more than ninety seconds, and Jakar had pushed his endurance to continue almost four times that on a good day. If he absolutely had to, it was possible to push further, but fatigue made for sloppy technique, and that was a sure way for him to get himself killed.

They weren't the only Jedi training today; Master Turhaya was in the chamber with his Padawan, not an apprentice Tiran had ever spoken with before, as the vast majority of his training had taken place offworld. He knew that Turhaya was one of the Temple Guardians, and a peacekeeper, though the robe style would've given that fact away if he hadn't known. Tiran could see that he wore armor beneath his robes, as well. The apprentice mirrored his master's movement, but he was being forced back toward the center of the chamber, which his senses told him was already occupied.

Switching to a more defensive style, the Padawan allowed his staff to flow in an almost hypnotic weave, icy blue clashing and sparking against his master's silver hued blades, slowing the advance of the older Jedi, though unable to stop it entirely. Jakar had been advancing his own training toward the idea of eventually taking over as the Corellian Enclave's Battlemaster, though the Cold War had led to an increased requirement for his services.

"Not bad," Jakar nodded as he notched up the level of aggression in his attack even further. "You need to remember to adapt on the fly, overcome the unexpected, and do what's necessary to protect those around you while you fight." Their weapons slammed together with remarkable force, Tiran feeling the impact travel the length of his arms, almost staggering him before he lowered his stance. One hand released from the weapon as he felt Oly and Jenisa's battle coming closer, a burst of compressed air striking Jakar square in the chest, sending him tumbling back. His master's hand pressed palm down to the floor as he righted himself, a fierce grin on the bearded Jedi's face.

"Someone's been looking at Niman techniques," Forseti chuckled, with a nod of approval. "I didn't expect that."

"I merely watched you and realized it was useful, Master," Tiran smiled softly. "I'm not sure about the footwork, but the techniques are well worth incorporating."

"Don't rest on your laurels, though." A flicker in the Force was all it took one of the lightsabers that remained at Forseti's belt jumped to his open hand. "You must be ready for anything." With those words, Forseti ignited not two, but three lightsaber blades, and lunged.

Jakar leaped into the air, his forward blades striking at Tiran's midsection as the younger Jedi twisted away, on the back foot once again. He couldn't find an opening to exploit in his master's technique; it was utterly alien to him. He opened himself to the flow of the Force, he allowed it to lead his actions, though the Padawan found that he was barely able to keep up with the speed of the strikes, ducking and weaving through the blurring lights and clashing sounds as his weapon was scarcely able to keep up. A double-bladed attack sent him staggering backward, weapon clattering to the floor as his back slammed into the other Padawan.

"Hey, watch it!" Jenisa barked over her shoulder as Oly bore down on her. Jakar's apprentice felt a nudge from the Force; this moment was something important. _Do what's necessary to protect those around you..._ His Master's words echoed in his mind as he realized that his clumsy retreat had cut off escape routes for both of the Padawans. Knowing that he was already in trouble, he knew that he had no choice but to improvise. His lightsaber was out of reach; he realized as his blue eyes scanned the room. Dropping to one knee, Tiran reached with both hands, his right grabbing the other Padawan around the waist, the left hand stretching into the Force, latching onto the remaining weapon on Forseti's belt. It flared to life as it crossed the short distance, the momentum he carried into a twisting spin that dragged Jenisa out of the way, a clumsy swipe at Forseti's legs diverting him into Oly's path, their blades clashing in a shower of sparks.

The Padawans found each others' eyes, an unspoken understanding forming between them. They would have words about what had just happened, but later. For now, both of their masters were advancing on them, and they needed to be focused. Tiran held Jakar's lightsaber ready, hoping that he'd be able to get to his weapon back before long. While he'd learned to use a single blade, he was more comfortable with the extra reach and leverage provided by his staff. Each of the masters edged out wider, and Tiran nudged Jenisa as a smirk formed on his lips. She nodded, and they moved out together, stepping as one to block the attacking angles and defend their impromptu teammates. They were not aware of the Jedi who were spectating because they didn't matter at this stage. They looked out for each other because both knew they had to if they stood any chance of pulling through this.

Tiran saw Oly's eyebrows raise as Jenisa's fingertips brushed against the outside of Tiran's forearm. She typically wasn't the sort who was comfortable with close contact, at least around strangers. He was surprised enough by this that he didn't notice his apprentice - also a Shadow-in-training - give a signal for them to switch places. The Force flooded Tiran, his body pushing rapidly towards the Temple Guardian, his lightsaber sweeping through a simple strike, the older Jedi pushing the attack aside, creating an opening to counterattack as Jenisa struck at Jakar.

Unfamiliar as he was with the grip of Jakar's lightsaber, Tiran's distraction at Jenisa's attack, flowing through a staccato sequence as though she was dancing was enough to lose the weapon. Twice in as many minutes, he'd been disarmed, but he was not wholly without recourse. Jakar sought training from beings across the galaxy, not only combat techniques, anything that would improve his ability to protect his loved ones, Corellia, and the Republic in which it stood.

Echani trained from a young age to fight with nothing but their bare hands, and they had traveled with a small group, having rescued their vessel from pirates, though ironically saving the pirates a great deal of hardship, given the abilities of those they were assaulting. With their ships tethered, Tiran had found a friend in a girl named Raskta, who was about his age. He'd been cocky, and she rewarded him with an impressive collection of bruises, and a dislocated shoulder. As his youthful arrogance subsided, the pair became friends, and during their travels, they trained together with Raskta's father, who led their mercenary band, aiding in several smaller conflicts, quietly helping the peoples of the worlds involved, as the Echani fought only to free those worlds from oppressive rule. On more than one occasion they discovered Sith and other Dark Side Force-users who had set themselves up as despots on these worlds.

The Jedi themselves accepted no payment outside of what was needed to keep them fed, and their ship running, asking instead that the Echani train them, to which they readily agreed. Tiran hadn't seen a fighter as graceful as Jenisa since that time. It would've been exhilarating to watch her fight if he'd had the time. In slow motion - at least to Tiran's vision - the Jedi Master struck at him. The Padawan threw his feet out to the side to absorb a portion of his momentum and used the larger master's strike as an opening. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the attack passed within an inch of his half-clothed torso. Twisting, he lashed out with one fist, the other palm open. An agonized grunt escaped his lips as the fist struck the hidden plates beneath the Guardian's traditional robes, his fingers driving hard into the top of Oly's leg, just to the side of his hip.

Turhaya staggered, adjusting the next attack to bring him close to Tiran's exposed side when a second viridian blade appeared above him. It deflected Oly's strike as the master's armored knee came up, striking Tiran in the stomach, folding him. The Padawan's first instinct was to roll free of the combat, but Jenisa had put herself between him and her master, something that he hadn't anticipated. They truly were in this together.

Jakar darted in as Jenisa leaned forward, a gasping Tiran struggling to gain the focus to call a weapon back to him, tired and now breathless as he was, but he had to do something. Thrusting himself upright, he felt the tug of the Force sending his weapon leaping into his hand. Following the natural arcing path of the lightsaber, he rolled across Jenisa's back as she braced against him, the rear blade of his saberstaff knocking Forseti's momentum to the side. As the roll finished, Tiran's hand found the ground again as the Force surged through him, close enough to Jenisa that she wasn't staggered back as the Masters were, and they found themselves back-to-back once more.

Blades flashed in a rapid sequence, masters versus apprentices, and the tiring Jedi found themselves making more and more mistakes. Tiran would've liked to suggest that the Masters were forcing those errors, but as a Jedi - and as a person who believed himself to have integrity - he valued honesty. If he couldn't be honest with himself, then how could he be with others?

Tiran could feel Jenisa nudging at the edges of his consciousness, and rather than shielding his mind as he so often did, he lowered his barriers and let her in. The connection he felt as he did so was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, his mind, even his body awash with an intense, almost electric singing sensation. It possessed and empowered both Padawans, despite their fatigue and relative inexperience compared to their Masters, they found themselves thinking and acting as one, a rudimentary melding that made both Jedi feel like they were quite literally baring their essence to one another.

The connection gave them both a surge of focus, a precision that they'd not expected as they began to move as one, each moment seeming to stretch for an eternity as their bond grew. Jakar had told Tiran more than once that combat was one of the fastest ways of bonding with another person, one of the strongest, too. Forseti was alternating between using two and three blades, attempting to keep Tiran off-balance, while Oly used the speed and ferocity of Juyo-kos to ensure that Jenisa's saberstaff remained in a firmly defensive pattern, though he was himself tiring from the intensity of his barrage.

Tiran saw a small opening in his master's form as the rear facing blade of his saberstaff deactivated so that Jakar could more easily bring both weapons to bear, and Tiran didn't hesitate, crouching and spinning through a kick that sent Jakar staggering back, the saberstaff tumbling from the master's hand. Vague images passed between the Padawans as they delved deeper into one another, drawing on their shared strength to keep up their rather spirited defense. Surprise filled the masters as they realized the depths of the meld that the Padawans had achieved, and how entwined they had become. An overhead chop that changed its angle due to the length of Oly's hilt slammed down directly between Jenisa's hands. Jenisa took a startled half pace back, which told Tiran that she was in trouble. Her weapon deactivated, the training intensity setting on the master's lightsaber the only reason that it had survived the attack.

As she knew she should, Jenisa shielded herself with the Force as she released her lightsaber fully, a smirk crossing her features at the suggestion that swirled between the Padawans: a series of images, a memory of a story that passed between them at the speed of thought. An acquiescent nudge met Tiran's mind, and he twisted his body, delving deep into the what reserves he had left, the trickle of blood that poured from his nose a testament to the strain of their efforts. Using the Force, Tiran gripped Jenisa's slender form, twisting as he drew her back, her shield shimmering as he tossed her away from her master's blade, into Jakar, sending the pair of them tumbling as Jenisa gripped Jakar's wrists, twisting them to ensure that she wouldn't just fall on his blades.

A great deal of laughter filled the training room, and Jenisa showed Tiran the way that she'd had the most success with taking her master down. The Padawan's head was throbbing now, both of them were, but he ducked in quickly, an overwhelming sense of positivity that wasn't his own buoying him as his weapon deflected Oly's strike. The blade slipped behind him as he completed his spin, hooking his foot behind the master's knee and pulling it forward with all his weight, using his Echani training to its best effect, sending the more experienced Jedi tumbling to the training room floor. An icy blue lightsaber blade found its way to Oly's throat, ensuring that he didn't get back up until the session was declared finished.

Jakar was still laughing as Jenisa helped him from the floor. Tiran did the same for Oly, gripping his wrist and bracing so that the master could haul himself from the ground. "The Orgus Maneuver, _really_?" Forseti chortled.

"It does seem to work better when the projectile is of Master Taerich's stature." Tiran chuckled, wiping the blood on his forearm as Jenisa came across, dabbing at it with the sleeve of her robe. " _You were amazing,_ " He breathed at his fellow Padawan, still able to feel her despite their battle meld having reached its natural conclusion.

"Are we going to be informing either Master Orgus' former Padawan that her fame is spreading?" Oly interjected, a grin on his face as he directed the question at Jakar.

"Sure." Came the amused reply. "The reprisals won't be _that_ bad, I'm sure."

Jenisa's laugh was infectious, though she continued to fuss at his bleeding nose, her free hand resting a little above his exposed hip. The Masters exchanged a knowing smile and left them to it.


End file.
